Pantera said, ‘These came from the men who attacked me: six each. Not the Guards, the bandits who came afterwards.’
Six silver denarii each? And perhaps the same again when the job was done, if they had succeeded. That’s a legionary’s wage for a month, and it was paid for a night’s work.
But Pantera was there, which meant that almost certainly the men who had been sent against him were dead, or injured to the point where they no longer posed any danger.
I said, ‘This isn’t proof. Just because you were attacked by men all paid in the same coin doesn’t mean Lucius or Vitellius or any of their men did the paying. Rome is full of these coins. Every Guard has hundreds burning holes in his purse. They are scattered like grain before chickens.’
‘Not these ones,’ said a voice behind me, and Domitian was at my right shoulder, flushed with the adventures of the night, his eyes burning with an inner light that was normal in his father or elder brother but was, in those days, not normal at all in him.
He reached across me and took one of the coins from Pantera’s palm. ‘These are new.’ He flipped one over, flipped it back again. ‘The first coins of Vitellius had Victory on the reverse side. Then they struck thousands with Liberty instead and gave them to the new Guard by the handful. But these have the Wheat Sheaf, sign of plenty, on their reverse and that has not been seen in Rome before today. These are newly minted. I would wager my father’s chances of success that they have not been through more than two sets of hands.’
For Domitian, that was a lengthy speech. Stranger even than that, he had taken Pantera’s arms, as men do after battle, and was saying, gravely, ‘It’s good to see you safe when the lady Jocasta and I had thought you dead. We lay on a rooftop at the edge of the street and watched you lead the Guards a dance up and down the Quirinal. The lady Jocasta said you were the best she had ever seen; breathtaking, was her word. But then we saw the bandits attack. We wanted to help, but there were so many of them and the lady Jocasta…’
He stumbled, tripping over the unaccustomed weight of his own words, flustered in a way that was not common for a young man who, since childhood, had known the value of each syllable and hoarded it, miser-like, against the right moment.
Gently, Pantera said, ‘Is she safe, the lady Jocasta?’
‘She is. I escorted her to the door of her own house. She lives high on the Aventine. Her house is…’ Domitian made an inchoate gesture with both hands, of fullness, and wealth and care. ‘She said she would visit tomorrow, in more propitious circumstances. She asks that if she comes as a lady, rather than as a centurion’s whore, will the lady Caenis receive her openly? It is not known that Jocasta favours Vespasian. Rather the reverse.’
It was the hesitation in his voice that sealed it for me. That, and the fact that, for the first time in his entire life, this quiet, private boy had transformed into the image of his father.
Domitian was in love.
I bit my lip. I had not thought him lacking in love, simply that he had always been more enchanted by his flies and coins and books than by any human soul.
In a moment’s inattention, I let Pantera catch my eye. The spy raised a brow that said more than I ever could. I wanted to clasp Domitian to my breast and tell him to go back to his collections of insects and his reading of Aristotle and leave the lady Jocasta to the man who had cared for her so clearly in the early evening.
I did not, of course, say any of this, and in any case the moment was lost when Pantera yawned, widely.
Matthias was scandalized: such things are not done in polite society, but Domitian, who could only have seen it from the corner of his eye, stretched his own jaw-cracking yawn, and, catching himself, flushed deeply.
‘My lady, lord,’ he bowed to us both, ‘I fear I must take myself from your company. I am not myself after dusk and would retire at once, with your permission?’
We gave it, of course, and thus, swiftly and easily, he was gone.
In his absence, Pantera leaned back against the wall and then subsided slowly down it. He came to rest, crouching with his knees hugged to his chest. Exhaustion softened his face.
I said, ‘My lord, we cannot offer you a bed in our rooms, but there is a cot in the servants’ quarters…’
‘Thank you, no. I must leave soon. I endanger you every moment I stay.’ Hands flat to the wall, he pushed himself upright. ‘Lucius is a dangerous enemy. I would like to believe your rank and position protects you from the inquisitors’ tools, but Nero tortured Piso’s wife and we have no reason to believe Lucius has greater scruples.’
Really! ‘If you are suggesting there is any danger I would ever betray-’
He held up his hands. ‘I am sure your courage is as great as any, but it’s not a risk I am prepared to take.’
‘Then what will you do? We will not leave the city and you cannot if you are to promote Vespasian’s cause.’
This late at night, I was prepared to speak the general’s name aloud. I would have used any weapon I had to bind Pantera close. Whatever the danger — and I had lived in the palace under other emperors; I knew exactly what the inquisitors did — I wanted to be a part of what was coming. I needed to be.
Matthias was hovering, concern written on his face. I signed him to bed and when, unwilling, he had gone, I said, harshly, ‘You are to protect three of us: me, Sabinus and Domitian. In addition, you have sworn to help Vespasian ascend the throne. You can’t do either if you run from Rome.’
Pantera gave me a long look. ‘I wasn’t planning to run anywhere. There are ways to be in Rome and be invisible. I am merely trying to protect you from-’
‘From the danger of your presence; I heard you. You said earlier that you planned to stay here as a servant. Do you plan that still?’
He took a moment to reply, which seemed unusual for him. The candles were dimming. I moved them closer and saw Pantera wince against the new light. He was sweating, and it was not all down to the evening’s sultry heat.
Sighing, I took his wrist, felt the sharp, hard pulses at the base of his thumb. Briskly now: ‘Tomorrow we can worry about your future and mine and how they may be protected. Tonight, you need a safe bed and a physic. Go to Scopius, the dream-teller who owns the Inn of the Crossed Spears, tell him Artemis asks of him that he give a stranger a bed and lends the skills of his wife in tending to his injuries.’
‘Artemis.’ His eyes were river brown in the lamplight, and full of humour. ‘You are, of course, a goddess.’
‘And, of course, I am not.’ I snapped at him; I hadn’t snapped in months — years. Vespasian could drive me to it; few others. With more restraint, I said, ‘I played the part in a play once, when Scopius and I were children. He was… attached to Antonia’s household for a while, not as a slave, but as a boy servant. The empress encouraged her servants to create our own entertainment. She thought it better than that we seek it outside her household.’
His gaze didn’t flinch, but still, we were both reminded that I was not a lady and never could be, even if my man became emperor.
I made light of it; I did not want to shame him. ‘Once a slave, always a slave. If you need to get word to me, send it with one of the silver-tongues. For Scopius’ sake they will hold their silence against any inducement.’
‘Silver-tongues?’ He looked at me strangely.
‘The street boys who carry messages around the ghetto are called silver-tongues. The ones who sell their bodies are silver-skins and those who thieve are silver-hands. Often the three are one and we call them silver-boys.’
‘But not always.’ There was a depth behind his gaze that I didn’t understand: I do now, of course. He said, ‘I take it Scopius knows the most reliable ones?’
‘Always. And they know their way here. I may be a lady in dress and style, but on the streets, I am still one of their own.’